


Sick and Full of Pride

by Kalamos



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alcohol, Asexuality, Gen, M/M, Panic Attacks, Road Trips, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 10:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5044681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalamos/pseuds/Kalamos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“So what’s this gonna be? Fucking road trip? We’re not in <strong>The Hangover</strong>, you know.”<br/>“But we can <strong>have</strong> one. If we try really hard.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ronan Lynch and Joseph Kavinsky go on a road trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick and Full of Pride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noirserpent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noirserpent/gifts).



> This is for the lovely Rebecca (noirserpent a.k.a. tumblr user caravaggion) who requested a Rovinsky road trip AU and how can I NOT write that. (You're a darling!)
> 
> The title is a line from Halsey's song, "Drive."

**-Day 0-**

Bad decisions, like street races, had to be cultivated. Prepared, one could say.

It was Friday afternoon and Ronan lingered in the Aglionby parking lot. Gansey had already headed off to rowing club; now Ronan watched as Adam cycled down the dusty street to his second job. He made a point of looking preoccupied and disinterested as he lounged in the driver's seat of his BMW, leafing through his CD collection and turning up the volume of the electronic mix a little higher - but not high enough to miss the familiar sound of the Evo's engine revving up.

"Hey, dickhead!"

Ronan's heart leapt.

There was always something vulgar about the way Kavinsky's hair fell into his face, hiding half of his sunglasses - it sort of said "just got fucked in the parking lot," even though Ronan was almost sure that Kavinsky was as innocent as a car fresh out of the factory.

"It's funny because it says 'dick' and 'head' in the same word and you're probably familiar with that," Kavinsky elaborated with a sly grin.

"Explaining your own jokes doesn't make them funnier," Ronan retorted.

"Well, it's not my fault you got a fucking stick up your ass. You gonna suck III tonight?"

Ronan didn't deem that worthy of an answer and just kept on staring at Kavinsky until the latter twitched up one corner of his mouth and took off his sunglasses.

An unspoken agreement passed between them. Satisfied with the outcome of his waiting, Ronan started his car.

 

**-Day 1-**

Joseph Kavinsky had sought and found the most dangerous toy in Henrietta, made him drop his car at home, drink half a bottle of vodka and pass out in his backseat.

Ronan Lynch was a beauty in the rearview mirror, something Joseph could get used to next to the asphalt stretching out in front of him.

His foot lifted from the gas pedal just a tiny bit when the body in the back started to move.

"Welcome back, princess."

"What the hell," Lynch mumbled, slowly sitting up. "Where are we going?"

"It's a new game," Joseph replied with satisfaction leaking from his voice, "it's called: how far can I drive before the idiot in my backseat wakes up and tries to stop me?"

"That's a shitty name."

"That's what your boyfriend said." Steering abruptly, Joseph passed a line of slower-going cars and missed Lynch's reaction.

Casually, he reached over to the glove compartment, taking out Lynch's phone. Lynch himself climbed into the passenger seat and Joseph allowed himself a self-satisfied smile as Lynch scrolled through the list of missed calls and the messages Dick III had left (and which Joseph had taken the freedom to answer, because why keep a boy waiting, right?)

“You’re a fucking dick, you know that?” Lynch said finally, leaning back with an exasperated sigh.

Joseph gave a short laugh. “I know I’m taking chances here, but I’d say _he’s_ the one who’s Dick.”

Lynch only shook his head.

“So what’s this gonna be? Fucking road trip? We’re not in _The Hangover_ , you know.”

“But we can _have_ one. If we try really hard.”

That shut him up for a moment, but then he picked up again.

“Okay. How about a new game. It’s called: no dreaming until we get back to Henrietta.”

“What the hell. That would be like not drinking. Or not, you know, breathing.”

Lynch smirked at this. “Knew you couldn’t do it.”

Joseph turned his head sharply and the way Lynch held his gaze defiantly made his breakfast (a snickers and some beer) curl up in his stomach. “I fucking can, you know,” he spat out right before he noticed he'd walked right into the trap. He tried not to let it show but Lynch probably knew anyway.

Oh well.

For the first time since he'd started driving, he looked at the satnav, trying to find out where exactly they were.

 

**-Day 3-**

Ronan woke up because something tickled his eyelid. "Don't fucking move!" Joseph yelled. He opened is eyes to find the other boy looming over him with a black marker in his hand. "You almost smudged it, wanker."

"Do I want to know?" Ronan was tired and couldn't find it in him to be upset yet. Spending the night with the stick shift digging into his side hadn't been exactly relaxing.

"Uh," something in Joseph's face told him that it looked absolutely ridiculous, "you should let me do the other eye. Because, well, it'll still look funny but... symmetrical funny?"

Ronan closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the sweater he'd used as a pillow, half from exhaustion and half because it was less stressful to just let Joseph finish what he'd started.

"Done," Joseph announced finally. Ronan opened his eyes to find the other boy studying his face, and for a brief moment he wondered if Joseph thought that he looked hot.

"Well, fuck me. It goes well with your eye color."

"What are you, gay?"

Joseph made a sound that could be laughing or choking, so Ronan grinned and punched him, straight on the nose.

"Fucker," Joseph said, "what was that for?"

"I figured you'd like some eyeshadow," Ronan smirked. Then he sat up, felt every single bone in his body scream from a night spent in an uncomfortable position, and scrambled out of the car.

 

**-Day 3, Except Later-**

Ronan knew a possibility when he saw one, so he dragged the half-unconscious Joseph to the shotgun seat and fastened the seatbelt over him before he rounded the car to the other side.

Slipping into the driver's seat, a wave of euphoria hit him. Could have been the coke but he was pretty sure it was the way the Evo's leather seat welcomed his body. Stroking his fingers over the wheel, palm caressing the stick shift. It was the closest to how he imagined sex he'd ever been and it was fucking glorious.

It shouldn't have been so different from sitting shotgun but it was. He adjusted the seat to his slightly longer legs, gave Joseph another look (still breathing) and started the car.

"New game," he announced to the motionless boy. "How far can I drive until you wake up?"

Joseph mumbled something that probably wasn’t even a word, so Ronan allowed himself a wide, dirty grin and revved up the engine.

If you handled an engine the right way it made a sound like the howling of an animal, and this was extra delicious because it was Joseph's car, the famous Evo he'd ogled at from countless races on the Henrietta highway and described to an increasingly tired Gansey in great detail.

The car trembled beneath him like a nervous horse, just waiting for the flick of his legs and the reins slackening to start speeding, and Ronan obliged happily.

He thought about donning the white-rimmed sunglasses just to piss Joseph off, but he figured he'd rather enjoy this with his gaze undarkened.

 

**-Day 5-**

“I thought we said no dreaming,” Ronan pointed to the fake IDs on the dashboard.

“ _You_ fucking said no dreaming. I said let’s have some fucking fun. So take it and come with me or stay here and, I don’t know, jerk off to sitting in the driver’s seat.”

Ronan’s cheeks burned furiously red because _how could Joseph know about that_ , so he just grabbed the IDs and slammed the door as he left the car.

He was pretty sure they looked to young to be mistaken for 21, so he counted on Joseph getting the IDs right – which he probably did because otherwise fake IDs wouldn’t be one of his most famous lines of business. He was also pretty sure they made the weirdest pair, him with the permanent marker / eyeliner he hadn't gotten off without ripping off the skin and then he just hadn't bothered, and Kavinsky with that ridiculous gold chain and the bruises under his eyes from Ronan’s punch two days ago.  


They finally got into the bar, even though the bouncers had spent half an eternity checking their ID’s and Ronan had only barely kept Joseph from insulting them. A wad of bills had worked in their favor and now they were sitting on bar stools after - probably - too many games of pool and – definitely – too many drinks. Colorful drinks, decorated with lots of fruit – basically a shitload of alcohol and sweet syrupy stuff that made it taste like lemonade, and he couldn't believe he'd just drunk cocktails with Joseph Kavinsky because _did it even get gayer than that_. Joseph reached over to steal the slice of orange decoratively placed on the rim of Ronan's glass. "Hey, fuckhead," Ronan closed his hand around Joseph's wrist, "these are my fucking vitamins, okay?" Out loud it sounded even dumber than in his head but he'd needed an excuse to touch him, and Joseph's skin was warm and he felt his pulse beating fast fast fast.

Joseph just grinned and said, "Stop me.”

 

**-Still Day 5-**

He didn’t even know why he had said it. There was something in Ronan’s eyes he had seen in the eyes of other boys, before, and this felt like danger of a sort he wasn't familiar with. Time to try it out.

He raised one corner of his mouth and his eyebrows in a way that he knew would make Ronan want to fight with him because he couldn’t stand High And Mighty Joseph, and sure enough, the Lynch boy reached out one unsteady hand – Joseph prepared himself for the punch, the fist in his face, but it didn’t come. Instead he felt sweaty fingers at his neck, and suddenly Ronan was very close. His body tingled restlessly, a feeling not unsimilar to watching your dog get hit by a car.

Then Ronan pressed his mouth on Joseph’s. Their teeth clanked against each other and it felt mostly wet, then the other boy’s tongue tunneled into his mouth. Sloppy and toothy and altogether strange.

Maybe they were too drunk for this. Joseph hadn’t believed a situation existed in which the words “too drunk” were warranted, but apparently, this was one of them.

“We should do this sober,” he managed when he drew back.

“We should,” Ronan agreed, but leaned in again and flicked his tongue over Joseph’s lips.

This time, Joseph punched him. It was a badly placed punch, but Ronan hit back nevertheless – it was sort of an old game, seeing who would go down first, and alcohol made them worthy opponents.

 

It didn’t take long until they were kicked out, of course, and Joseph found out he very much preferred that to just leaving.

Joseph tried to tell if Ronan was swaying or not, but since the world tinted this way and that, it was hard to tell. The concrete of the parking lot suddenly moved up to meet his face, but didn’t, and it took him another minute to notice it was because Ronan had caught him.

“Come on,” Ronan said, sounding more sober than he probably was. “Car.”

With Ronan’s arms around Joseph’s shoulders, stumbling and swaying, they made their way back to the Evo. Joseph fumbled for his keys, but Ronan shoved him against the car and brought his body closer, closer, closer.

Something twisted inside Joseph and tightened around his lungs. He hadn’t minded being held. This was different. And he didn’t know how to get out; words like _no_ and _please_ and _stop_ were the equivalent to saying _I’m weak_ and maybe he wanted that even less than being kissed. His heart raced like sometimes when he had done bad drugs and his thoughts were jumbled shards of glass and he couldn’t stop thinking them and why hadn’t he had more of that vodka, he could have just –

“Whoa, man, what’s up with you?”

Joseph realized he was shivering, and when Ronan stepped back, there was nothing to hold him upright anymore, and when his knees gave in he sank down into a crouch.

Somehow, there was no air left in his lungs, but at the same time they were so filled up with fear that he couldn't breathe properly either. Maybe he was going to die - he'd always imagined it differently, but the thoughts clawing their way through is head and the iron fist around his chest and the way his throat hurt from wanting to cry but not being able to because Ronan was still here -

Ronan's voice was soft, almost a whisper, and close. “Breathe,” he instructed. He had sat down next to him. “In. Out. In. Out. That’s good. You’re good.”

Calm and soothing. The last two words associated with the words generally coming out of Ronan’s mouth, and the last two words Joseph thought about describing what he needed. But if Ronan could be calm and soothing, maybe it was okay to want that. He briefly wondered where Ronan had learned how to talk to someone who had a panic attack, but found he had to concentrate on his breathing.

It felt like a long time until he calmed down - maybe half an hour, maybe three. At some point, Ronan started stroking Joseph's hair, very carefully.

When Joseph finally stood up, shakily, he glared at Ronan. “One word to anyone and you’re dead.”

Ronan just smirked and waited for him to unlock the car.

Joseph curled up on the backseat, exhausted, still feeling drunk, but glad it was over. Ronan occupied the front seats. Carefully, Joseph inched his hand toward Ronan’s and felt it wrap around his, warm and reassuring. That was how he fell asleep.

 

**-Day 6-**

Dropping Ronan off at Monmouth Manufacturing was less spectacular than imagined. There was no furious Gansey, no final stab in the back. They had been silent for most of the ride, and all Ronan said when he got out of the car was, “see you.” But he didn’t close the door yet, like he’d asked a question he awaited the answer for. 

Joseph replied, “see you, fuckhead.”

So when Ronan smirked, he smirked back and his chest felt like a bee hive. A happy bee hive. Then Ronan slammed the door and Joseph pressed his foot down on the gas pedal.


End file.
